An Architect

I wanted to make something so pretty you’d recall it all – every moment, every feeling, every touch. I wanted to make you a city on a tall mountaintop filled up with parents and a bedroom down the hall that never changes (at least not much, you can rearrange your stuff but it’s not going anywhere else anytime). I wanted to frame you in the shape of a rhyme, hooked or barbed so that it really did stick in your mind, then reel you back and chain you to my side. Oh you can drag me around surely, take me all around the world, we can go anywhere you want to but you have to go with me. You have to take my clothes off and promise you’ll never leave. I wanted to make something where that wasn’t much to ask – something where you saw a life you want and choose to grab for it. It’s all bullshit, of course we know. I wanted you to feel at home and write me at least three love notes. Yours came back (wrong address) but now it’s way past sending. You wouldn’t get the references like I don’t get the ending that I wanted when I started writing out these useless lines. I wanted to make something so splendid and divine that you would read it and then slash your wrists both open that night.